Safe Harbor
by Jessa4865
Summary: Sometimes there's only one way to turn.
1. Chapter 1

Safe Harbor  
>Jezyk<br>Disclaimer: Not mine. I believe we've established that.  
>Spoilers: Through Season 12, to be safe. Slightly AU as EO are still partners.

Part One

It was just after one in the morning when his phone rang, wrenching him from sleep and throwing him into the confusion of waking up somewhere unfamiliar. No matter how many months he'd lived in the apartment, he wasn't sure it would ever start to feel like home. Not that the house he'd bought and paid for and lived in with his family for almost thirty years had felt like home for the period preceding his divorce either.

Of course, that was something he could contemplate another time, perhaps when his phone wasn't still ringing. He reached out, misjudged the height of the bedside table as he did every time he awoke, knocked his hand into the side of the stand and sent the phone sliding under the bed.

With a growl at the familiarity of the circumstance despite the perpetually unfamiliar surroundings, he managed to locate the phone under the edge of the bed while it was still screaming for his attention.

Already exhausted, he sighed grumpily into the phone. "Yeah, Stabler."

"Can you come get me?"

His heart raced at the sound, terrified as to what might have prompted such a phone call. "Are you ok?" He was wide awake instantly, grabbing a pair of jeans off the floor and pulling a shirt over his head. He was in the hallway, keys in hand, by the time she answered.

"Yeah, I'm just fucking great."

The slur in her words gave him pause, his sheer terror died back a little, replaced with confusion. In fifteen years of knowing her, his partner had never once called him intoxicated and asked for a ride. He wanted to smile and be glad she'd finally decided he was worthy of such an honor, but he knew it had never been a matter of trust. She'd always trusted him, the same as he'd always trusted her. She just didn't often get tanked and he knew when she did feel compelled to drink herself stupid, she did so in the security of her own home. In their line of work, they were all too familiar with the perils that could befall a woman alone with too much alcohol in her system to defend herself.

He got the name of the bar and promised he'd be there soon, disconnecting the call and spending the ride contemplating what the hell had happened. Olivia sure as hell wasn't going to tell him, she never told him anything if she could help it, and though he'd never seen her drunk enough to need a ride home from a bar, he doubted even inebriation could relax her enough to confide in him.

The bar was crowded at the relatively early hour and as Elliot waded through the crowd of over-dressed, slightly desperate women near the door, he feared he'd have a hard time finding his partner.

He needn't have worried.

As always, his eyes found her immediately, his instincts always able to locate her without even trying. The crowd seemed to disappear then, his vision narrowing around the unbelievable sight. Even knowing intuitively that it was her, his consciousness did a double take, his eyes raking over the shapely form on the bar stool, her usually disguised curves highlighted by the form-fitting, fire-engine red dress. Her legs were crossed at the knee, drawing his attention down their tan lengths, right down to her red stilettos. He'd swear on a stack of bibles and his children's lives that it was Olivia, and yet, there wasn't one damn thing recognizable about the woman, not the dress, not the shoes, not the carefully styled waves of brown hair falling over her slight shoulders.

In fact, as he made a path through the room, ignoring the stares of the hopefuls in his way, he wondered how it was that he'd never noticed that her shoulders were slight before. He'd never noticed her size or weight, would have defaulted to describing her as average if asked, but seeing the way her waist curved in from her hips, he realized she was tiny. Perhaps the addition of a gun and a badge made her the formidable woman he knew.

But without them, he couldn't deny the desperate urge he felt to protect her.

Without the slightest fear that he was about to scare the crap out of a total stranger, he slid onto the stool next to her, leaning forward and breathing into her ear.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Rather than jumping out of her seat like she would have with the benefit of sobriety, her head lazily turned toward him, her eyes dancing and her lips curling into a smile of recognition.

He couldn't resist the urge, part of him hoping she wouldn't remember in the morning, part of him praying she would, and let his eyes wander appreciatively over her, the low cut of the neckline, the thin straps, the way her crossed legs had pushed the short hem further up her exquisite legs. How was it he'd worked beside her for so many years and never realized how fucking amazing her legs were? He swallowed hard and decided her normal lack of short skirts and stilettos had something to do with his ability to resist his caveman instincts.

"I didn't know you were here." Her smile faded as she indicated the drop of fluid left in her martini glass. "You want a drink?"

He grinned, knowing she was actually more intoxicated than he'd thought. "You don't remember calling me?"

Her eyes widened and she stared at her phone accusingly, as though it had decided to call him of its own accord. "I called you?" Her fingers slipped over the screen as her brow furrowed. "I wonder who else I called."

He picked up the phone, his fingers far more coordinated as he checked the log for her. "Just me."

She squeezed her eyes closed, her body relaxing a bit. "Oh thank God."

He shook his head, slipping her phone into his pocket and offering her his hand. "Never took you for a drunk dialer."

She shrugged, trustingly slipping from her stool and flopping against his side. "Don't really have anyone besides you."

His heart went out to her then, knowing she never would have said such a thing to him had she been sober, hating that she felt so lonely. He wanted to hug her, to promise her that she didn't need anyone else, to assure her that he wouldn't mind a bit if she wanted to call him and drunkenly confess whatever came to mind. But he couldn't, he had to remember that that wasn't his place, that no matter how close he wanted to feel to her she wouldn't appreciate him having pried when she sobered up.

He slung his arm around her waist, helping support her weight, and led her toward the door. "I'm sure there are a hundred guys in here who would be happy to help you out, Liv."

He'd said it as a joke. He'd said to make her feel better. He'd said it because it was true – the fact was that Olivia was a fucking knockout and the only reason she wasn't married was because she didn't want to be. She would dispute it, he knew, claim that she'd always wanted to get married and have a family, but he knew better. He knew her better. She never wanted to be as vulnerable as loving someone would make her.

Mercifully, on the nearly silent trip to her apartment, Elliot discovered Olivia was a quiet, thoughtful drunk. He was glad he didn't have to listen to personal information he'd rather not have nor did he have to deflect excessively personal questions about himself that he didn't care to answer even if she wouldn't have any recollection of them in the morning.

He almost thanked her, as he righted her from a stumble over the last step to her floor, for still being recognizable as the woman he knew rather than one of those women who was normally so repressed that she turned into a horny octopus after one beer. Not that he would mind one bit if the beauty at his side tried to cop a feel, but he couldn't be sure he'd be able to stop himself and therefore was happy she wasn't putting him in that position.

Though she was leaning heavily on him as she picked through her bag for her keys, she was able to pick out the right one to fit into the lock and open the door. In fact, watching her as she set her bag and keys on the table by the front door and balanced on one foot to unhook the strap of her shoe, he found himself wondering if she had really been so drunk as to need assistance.

He felt bad as she tripped a moment later while she tried to switch feet. She was Olivia, after all, she wouldn't have called him unless she'd needed him. And despite the admirable job she was doing of appearing relatively sober, he knew she wasn't, certainly not after she nearly fell over a throw rug on her way to the kitchen.

He stepped forward, deciding she'd called him because she trusted him. He wasn't just going to stand there and watch her. His hands fell on her shoulders, steering her back toward the living room, prodding her across the floor toward her bedroom.

"Come on, Liv, time for bed."

She grinned, raising an eyebrow at him. "Took you long enough."

He chuckled, ever more thankful that she'd managed to reduce the tension of the situation. He'd been in her bedroom before, but just once, and it had hardly been a romantic situation. He'd been eavesdropping on her fake date with that son of a bitch Porter while TARU bugged the bastard's phone.

His muscles tensed as he remembered the long, uncomfortable silence in that conversation, when he'd known the asshole was kissing her, when he'd had to fight an unfathomable desire to march out there and inform everyone in the room that Olivia was his. He hadn't enjoyed that feeling. He hadn't understood that feeling. He hadn't let himself so much as think about that feeling again.

Until the moment he was settling Olivia onto her bed, reaching down to remove the shoes she'd loosened, looking up at her face to find her hooded eyes staring back at him.

Jesus Christ he'd never seen anything so fucking perfect in all his life.

He balled his hands into fists and reminded himself he couldn't touch her. Because she wasn't his. Because she didn't want to be. Because he'd just make an ass out of himself if he tried.

She went to stand, and Elliot cursed under his breath at the fates that taunted him, making him reach out to stop her.

"Sleep, Liv. Time to sleep."

She looked up at him, her face unguarded, her eyes welcoming. "I'm thirsty."

Water. Fuck, of course she'd be thirsty. He nodded, stepping toward the door. "I'll get you something. Stay put."

With any luck, she'd be passed out asleep by the time he got back.

Any luck, that was, besides his.

She not only wasn't asleep when he returned, she was actually back on her feet, one knee up on the bed to help her balance while she tried to reach the zipper of her dress in the middle of her back. With her leg positioned like it was, the skirt was pushed up so high he felt his heart racing. She had no idea, not one fucking clue how incredibly sexy she was.

She certainly had no intention of giving her partner a heart attack at the almost coy way she looked over her shoulder, past the curtain of hair that fell over one eye. "Can you get my zipper?"

At least, he assured himself, she'd forget the way he'd started to hyperventilate at the idea of his partner asking for his help getting undressed.

He could understand her reasoning. He knew her only concern would be sleeping in a dress that had undoubtedly cost a lot of money.

And he had no choice, couldn't refuse without giving himself away, and so he reluctantly stepped forward, setting the bottle of water he'd brought her on the night stand and reaching for her.

He felt like he was sixteen again, fumbling with a bra hook that shouldn't have been so complicated. He was shaking so hard he couldn't grasp the zipper the first two times he tried. He stared at the mole on the back of her shoulder and tried to decide if he could come up with a feasible excuse to run away.

She waited a beat before looking back at him again, her body impossibly close to his. "Something wrong?"

Mortified, he felt his cheeks burning red. She really didn't know. She couldn't imagine her partner was standing behind her with a suddenly irrepressible hard on and his hips threatening to thrust against her and let her know exactly what was wrong.

He swallowed hard. "I think it's stuck." Turning his eyes back to the dress and deciding the faster he moved the sooner he could escape, he grabbed the zipper and yanked.

Unfortunately, he yanked so hard she lost her balance, falling back against him. Her leg was still on the bed, the curve of her ass providing the perfect cradle for his dick to nestle, his hands moving to her hips, steadying her, holding her.

He was frozen, in fear, in desire, in embarrassment.

She had in no way intended to turn him on. She'd called him to help her, to protect her, to provide a safe, asshole-free trip home when she was drunk.

And there he was, his erection pressing between her legs, his hands unconsciously reaching down to touch the bare skin of her thighs.

She was frozen too, it seemed, obviously well aware of the situation and too drunk to know what to do about it. She was shaking, trembling and breathing heavy.

She was waiting, he realized, for him to indicate exactly how big of an asshole he was. Would he keep going, expecting something from her he had no right to expect, or would he keep the violation from getting any worse?

"I'm so sorry." He backed away, terrified to face her, ashamed of his powerful reaction, yet completely unable to leave her. He clearly couldn't control himself, but he remained there, praying she wouldn't extend an invitation he might be powerless to resist even while he recognized she was far too drunk to consent to such a thing.

Perhaps it was that he was hoping she might assure him she wasn't mad.

He definitely wasn't expecting her to climb into her bed with her half-unzipped dress, curl up in a ball and pull the covers over her head.

Considering the damage he'd already caused and how much more damage he'd cause by attempting to comfort her, Elliot turned away from the guilt-inducing sight of the shaking lump on his partner's bed. He'd be lucky if she didn't fucking shoot him in the balls when she sobered up.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Three months later, the incident was more or less forgotten. Olivia, well, if Olivia had ever remembered it, she never mentioned it. As for Elliot, besides a desperate lingering desire to see her in that dress again, he figured his mistake wasn't bad enough to merit the guilt trip he'd initially intended to take. In fact, it had been a total accident and, considering that Olivia wasn't angry about it, he didn't see any reason to dredge it up.

They were working on a new case, a string of rapes and murders spanning half the city, and the exhaustion of the chase was beginning to catch up with them. On their way in to see the latest crime scene, Elliot watched his partner yawn. He wished he could send her home to get some sleep, but he knew she wouldn't dare rest while a vicious perp was out there on the loose. He fell in step beside her in the stairway, realizing as he yawned in response that he probably needed sleep just as badly. It wasn't like he'd been relaxing and leaving the work to her.

He ducked under the crime scene tape, lifting it for Olivia, and nodded at the pair of Queens detectives who'd arrived first. The taller of the two looked at him oddly for a moment and then he seemed to recognize Elliot, though Elliot didn't have any recollection of meeting the other man. Rather than explaining himself or even politely returning Elliot's nod, the guy glanced at Olivia with a smirk before turning to his partner.

"Oh, look, the frigid division of the panty police is here."

Elliot narrowed his eyes, waiting for Olivia to verbally castrate the asshole. She usually set pricks like him straight with a few choice words and Elliot relished the rare opportunity to watch her lose her temper.

But Olivia ignored the bait, catching Elliot's eye and nodding toward the hall as though the two snickering jackasses were silent and invisible. "Body's this way."

Elliot looked back at the morons who were standing before him with their heads together giggling like a couple of school girls. It wasn't just a slam against what he did; it had been an insult of his partner as well.

His unhappy face caught the attention of the dipshit who'd spoken, perhaps as the other man noticed he was seriously outweighed should a fight erupt. Ever pleased with his innate ability to intimidate, Elliot snarled. "That's the best you got?"

The detective's face sobered even more, his eyes darting around as if someone might be willing to help. Finally, the man swallowed hard and decided to stare at his shoes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Fuck off."

He waited a while, until they were in the car heading back to the precinct before he brought it up, knowing if he were lucky enough for her to talk to him, it definitely wouldn't be in the vicinity of those two. "You ok?"

She shrugged, continuing to stare out the windshield so intently he knew she wasn't seeing anything at all. Her shrug told him more than she knew, though. Her utter lack of a denial worrying him. Her standard response to an inquiry like that from anyone was "I'm fine." It was telling that she wasn't even going to bother. But he erred on the side of caution, letting her have space in case it wasn't really anything important. If something was really wrong, something he needed to know about, there's be plenty more indication than Olivia opting against a sparring match with some chauvinist.

Her quiet, distracted mood lasted, however, and by the end of the day, Elliot realized she hadn't spoken a single word since the encounter. When he stood up to leave for the day, he made the offer, though he'd already steeled himself for her to refuse.

"Want a ride home?"

She looked up at him, her instinctual response starting to escape her lips. "No, I'm going-" She stopped abruptly, standing up and coming around her desk. "Actually, yeah, thanks."

He wasn't able to keep the smile off his face at her unexpected acceptance. It wasn't often she let him help her, so even if it was only a ride home, he felt proud that he'd stumbled onto something useful.

The ride was awkward. The juxtaposition of the silence in the car and the noise of Manhattan made Elliot wonder if he'd made another mistake. Olivia wouldn't talk about what was bothering her on a good day. A melancholy Olivia definitely wasn't going to share. Resigned to suffering through the drive, Elliot nearly jumped out of his skin when she spoke.

"Let's get a drink." Her words had been as unplanned as his invitation had been; he could see it in the way her eyes widened slightly when she turned to look at him. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her uncertainty showing.

He couldn't imagine a worse idea than sharing a drink with someone who already appeared to want to be somewhere else, but he couldn't remember the last time she'd suggested that they have a drink together. He couldn't swear she'd ever suggested it.

"Anywhere in particular?" He thought of that crowded bar he'd driven her home from and prayed like hell it wasn't her favorite spot.

"Anywhere's fine." She turned back to the window, leaving the decision to him, trusting that he'd make a good choice, but a moment later, she glanced back at him. "Unless you have plans. It's ok if you don't want to-"

He felt bad for her, for the way he could see she was rethinking the offer the very same way he had just felt about giving her a ride. He reached out without thinking, laying his hand on top of hers, squeezing gently. "No, no, it sounds good actually."

And though the idea of having a drink hadn't initially appealed to him, at the sight of her soft smile, he knew there wasn't a damn thing he'd rather do.

A half hour later found them seated in a small booth nestled in the back of a dimly lit bar. The benches, the table, the patrons, even the bartender, they'd all had better, younger days. There was a dilapidated jukebox playing ancient country melodies into the thick air, scented with decades of cigarettes and sorrow. The pattern on the stained carpet was so worn away Elliot couldn't tell for certain that it wasn't simply old spills and dirt that had never been cleaned up. He could imagine the sneer a person would get if they attempted to order a cosmopolitan or an apple martini or whatever drink the yuppies were imbibing these days. It was exactly the opposite of that other bar; it was the sort of place that felt more like home than his own apartment.

Oddly enough, Olivia seemed every bit as much at home in the dive in work clothes and a beat up leather jacket as she had among the crowd of schmoozers in her fancy dress. But really, it wasn't that surprising. Elliot had never seen Olivia look out of place anywhere. She was a chameleon, able to blend into any environment. Her beauty always earned her stares, but she always looked like she belonged somehow. It was yet another effortless talent of hers for him to admire.

He waited until she'd taken a few sips of her beer before he tried again. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

She shrugged again, which for her was that same thing as a regular person shouting "I need help" into a megaphone. She wanted to tell him. She wasn't warning him off. Same thing.

"Who was he?" He had to make an educated guess, suspecting that timing of her bad mood coincided a little too perfectly with the guys from the crime scene.

Her head shifted sharply, her chin jutting out to the side. "Just some jerk."

Despite her denial, he knew he was right. "Seemed kind of personal to me."

She looked back at him, holding his eyes, resolve radiating from her. Whatever she said, he knew, would dictate the rest of the evening. She'd decided if she was going to talk or not. To his surprise, Olivia's face softened, her eyes revealing deep hurt and pain he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Remember Joe?"

He swallowed hard, pretending he had to search for the information. He didn't have to think. He knew the names of her boyfriends, of any man that made it past the first date actually. The names, their addresses, whether they had any outstanding parking tickets… He wasn't proud of it, but he figured someone had to know. She had no real family to speak of, only Simon, who wouldn't know if she disappeared. Elliot was the only one looking out for her.

After a reasonable pause, he nodded slowly, hoping that Olivia's upset would prevent her from recognizing the lie. "Couple months back, you were together a while, weren't you?"

Seven weeks. From the first mention of his name until long enough after the last that Elliot knew there was no more Joe.

He wasn't a stalker. It was just that since his divorce, he really hadn't had much else to do besides pay far too much attention to his partner's personal life. He had so little to do, in fact, that he was pretty damn sure the last mention of Joe's name had been right around the night he'd discovered that Olivia Benson in a certain red dress could do very bad things to his self-control.

Picking at the label of her beer bottle, she looked down. A sad smile formed on her lips. "That jerk was Joe."

"So things didn't end well?"

Rolling her eyes, she took a swing of her drink. "No."

Well that certainly gave him something to think about. She hadn't responded with a flippant remark. And seven weeks was plenty long enough that Joe's "frigid" would have struck a nerve. He slid to the edge of the booth, and nodded at the bar.

"I'll get us another round." They had barely touched the first, but he needed away from her for a minute. He needed to let his hatred show on his face and to ball his hands into fists until he could fight back the urge to punch something. If Olivia saw his visceral reaction, she'd stop talking, she'd try to calm him, she'd turn the tables and attempt to comfort him.

He returned to the table with a bowl of peanuts and two more beers. Olivia hadn't moved a muscle. Hell, she was still staring straight ahead as though he'd never moved. But when he slid the second beer in front of her, she belatedly processed his words.

"What are we doing here?" She motioned at the beer she'd barely touched. "I really don't even want this one."

Mindful of the lunch they'd skipped and the strong suspicion that dinner was a long way off, Elliot grabbed a handful of the peanuts before he stood again. "So let's go."

She stared up at him, obviously not having expected his agreement. "You just bought these. Have yours at least."

"I really don't want them either." He shrugged when her gaze turned questioning, embarrassed that he was going to have to confess. "You were the one who asked for a drink."

"And you're suddenly going to agree with everything I suggest?" She forced a grin as she stood up beside him. "Who are you and what have you done with my partner?"

Slipping his hands in his pockets, he allowed his arm to brush hers as they started to walk. "I want to know what's bothering you, so I'll be as agreeable as I need to be to get you to talk to me."

"It's not something I want to talk about at all, but doing it in public is probably a really bad idea." Her voice was quiet, her honest words revealing that she was nearly as desperate to tell him as he was to know.

She was being too open, too honest, and it scared him. He'd never seen her like this. She'd never given him so much information in such a short time. His imagination began to run wild, suggesting no end of horrible things that she wouldn't want to talk about and yet felt he deserved to know.

He stopped walking, his hand jutting out and grabbing hers, his voice a choked whisper. "Tell me you're ok." His eyes searched hers in the silence, seeking reassurance he couldn't find.

And once again she shrugged in response to him. "I can't."


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

His heart had stopped beating. He was convinced of it. He wasn't breathing either. He was just standing there, stopped dead on the busy sidewalk, gaping at the woman who'd just killed him. "Liv?" he choked out, desperate for some kind of reassurance. Was she sick? Was she dying? Was she going to leave him?

Her eyes widened when she finally recognized his distress and her hand tightened around his. "No, geez, El, I'm not sick or anything. It's just-"

But he'd heard all he needed to hear. So overwhelmed, so relieved by her words, he gave into the desire to reach for her, dropping her hand in favor of wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a fierce hug.

"Fuck, Liv, you scared the crap out of me." Even as he spoke, even as he tried to laugh off the depth of feelings that had prompted the embrace, he couldn't yet release her. He turned his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of her deeply. "You're ok?"

She didn't push him away, instead returning the pressure of his arms and holding him close. "Physically I'm fine." She waited a beat, her face moving to press into his neck. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that."

Finally somewhat satisfied that she wasn't about to drop news of a serious, possibly fatal, illness on him, he relaxed his arms and stepped back. He felt sheepish, his cheeks burning at his overt emotional response, at how easily he'd jumped to touch her, at how much he'd revealed of himself.

Olivia didn't seem to mind. She ran her hand down his arm, giving his hand a quick squeeze before she allowed the contact between them to completely end. Her face was welcoming as she smiled, letting him know without a word that she had no objections to either his knee-jerk reaction to something being wrong with her or how he'd gone about comforting himself.

Taking a deep breath he started walking again. "So, your place?"

She nodded and fell in step beside him. "Yeah, we can talk there."

His heart raced again at her uncharacteristic behavior, but he reminded himself that she'd made the decision in the bar that she was going to confide in him. She was set on it. He just had to hold himself together until she was in safe enough surroundings to explain herself.

His anxiety grew by leaps and bounds during the drive to her apartment and the curve only got steeper as they climbed the stairs and walked to her door in silence. He watched with his heart in his throat as she unlocked the door and kicked her shoes off on her way into the kitchen. The scene was so similar to that night he'd brought her home.

"Want anything to drink?"

He stood nervously by the door, thinking of the four beers they'd just abandoned and wishing he had one of them. Under the circumstances, however, it just didn't seem right. "Water's fine."

He was still waiting at the door, completely unsure of what she expected him to do, when she walked past him with two bottles of water in hand and sat down on the couch. She curled her knees and rested her feet on the cushions, her arms coming to wrap around her calves. Though his first instinct was to sit on the adjacent chair, Olivia's body was angled away from it, toward the other end of the couch.

She was the one opening up, and therefore, he'd sit where she wanted him. He carefully settled himself on the far end of the couch, trying to feign a relaxed confidence he absolutely did not feel. He held the bottle of water she'd brought for him and rolled it between his palms, hoping it would keep him from fidgeting.

There was a long, awkward pause as Olivia pressed her eyes closed. Finally, just when Elliot was about to offer to let it go if she was that uncomfortable, she drew in a shaky breath. "This is really hard for me."

He nodded instinctively, agreeing with her before he quite understood what she was saying. As many red flags as he'd already seen, here was yet another one. He wanted to know, to help, but he was beginning to truly fear what it was she had to tell him. Whatever it was, he would have greatly preferred for her to spit it out abruptly rather than killing him slowly.

Still, he knew it had to be something so difficult that she was bringing it to him, that she was admitting she needed to talk about or ask or confide in him, and he didn't want to betray the trust she was placing in him by rushing her. He caught her eyes and offered her a reassuring smile. She held his stare for a moment before she glanced down, her arms pulling back to wrap around her stomach. She appeared to be shrinking right before his eyes, bringing to mind that night once again, when he'd first realized how small she was compared to his bulk. She looked like a little girl, her body curled in on itself, her normal confidence gone, a scared child left behind in the absence of her tough cop persona.

"It's really hard to tell you, but it's hard to live with it too. I've tried everything and I don't know what else to do."

He panicked internally, forcing his calm façade to remain in place for her benefit. He had no idea how whatever it was she was grappling with had anything to do with Joe, unless… his heart stopped. "Did he hurt you?"

"No." She shook her head, but stopped halfway through the motion. "Yes. No." She bit her lip and looked at him, all helplessness and uncertainty. "I mean, he was a jerk, but it wasn't his fault." She shook her head and attempted to amend her statement. "Well, it was his fault he was a jerk, but he-"

"I got it." He cut her off with a hand on her shoulder, unable and unwilling to listen while she tried to force herself through the explanation. "He had something to do with it and he made it worse, whatever it was, but he didn't cause it."

"Yeah." She nodded. "God, I don't even know where to start." She brought her hands up to her face. "I'm so embarrassed, El, please don't laugh at me."

He scooted over, reaching out to take her hand and press it between both of his. "Jesus, no, Liv, I'd never laugh at you."

She couldn't quite meet his eyes, her cheeks flushing deeply. "You don't know what I'm going to tell you yet."

Holding her hand wasn't enough. He released her hand and stretched his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. "You can tell me anything, Olivia. Anything. I'm not going to laugh at you. There isn't a damn thing funny about whatever has you this upset."

She nodded against him, her hand sliding slowly over his stomach. "Thank you." She looked up to smile at him. "See? That's why I want to tell you. Because you're the only person I trust not to laugh."

Fuck. He couldn't believe he was hearing these things from her. He knew, absolutely knew, that she trusted him, had always firmly believed she trusted him more than she trusted anyone else on Earth, but they'd never had the sort of touchy-feely mushy relationship where they would blubber at each other about how much they meant to one another. Part of what made their bond so damn special was that they didn't have to say it; they just knew. He didn't know how to answer her.

He squeezed her tighter, letting her know that she was welcome to stay right where she was if it might make talking easier. "How about you start with what happened with Joe?"

Her voice was soft when she responded. "It was that night I called you for a ride."

He tensed, then cursed himself for it because there was no way she hadn't felt it with the way she was resting against him. "I-uh-I didn't know you remembered that."

Once again his mind went off on its own, drawing up the image of her in that god damned dress with those ridiculous shoes. His body, perpetually over-attentive where she was concerned, was threatening to rebel and he held his breath, willing himself not to harden while there was no chance she wouldn't notice and when the physiological response would seem so terribly inappropriate. He closed his eyes and reminded himself she was scared and hurt and trying to confide in him and when his mind inadvertently ignored the reminder, starting to recall the way she'd asked him to unzip her dress, he forced himself to remember the terrified way she'd hidden under her covers when she'd realized his desire that night.

"I don't remember much. I think I remember you helping me up the stairs. And when I couldn't remember how I'd gotten home the next morning, I checked my phone."

He thanked his lucky stars that she was either honest or choosing not to embarrass him. "Any time." In an attempt to quell further mutiny from his body, he steered her back on topic. "So how'd that involve Joe?"

She sighed softly, almost as if she'd hoped he'd forgotten she was supposed to be telling him something. "We'd gone out that night, had a nice dinner. We'd been dating a while and I guess I thought he was going to get tired of waiting, so-" She shifted, but he knew her discomfort was with her words rather than their position. "So we came here and had some wine and then, um, well, you know, things started to uh," her pause, her inability to speak, revealed exactly how mortified she was at the thought of telling him, even if she hadn't pointed it out already.

He couldn't blame her. As supportive as he wanted to be, he wished he didn't have to listen to the details of her sexual encounter with her ex-boyfriend. He held his tongue, hoping she wouldn't get too graphic.

"He didn't act like a jerk then, El, he seemed decent. I thought he was a good guy. I really liked him."

His hand moved to stroke her hair, trying to encourage her, reminding himself that she'd just explicitly said Joe hadn't hurt her, knowing that touching her was the only thing that would keep him from punching a hole in the wall if she told him that, in the end, Joe had done something awful.

Her tearful voice called his attention back and told him he needed to stay right where he was, right where she needed him. "It had been a long time and I really wanted to, but," she paused to sniffle as she fought back tears, "but once he started to take off his pants, as soon as he reached for his zipper," she broke down, sobbing, clinging to his shirt as her body shook.

He held her, his chin resting on top of her head, as he tried to comfort her. "Shhhh, Liv, it's ok. Take your time."

She took a moment, trying to stifle her sobs. "I panicked and asked him to leave. That's when he turned into an ass. He said I was a tease and a bitch and everything else he could think of."

Elliot swallowed hard, trying to force back the lump in his throat. "But he left?"

She nodded, the bobbing of her head comforting him. "He left."

"He didn't touch you after you told him to leave?"

"No, he had plenty to say, but he didn't come near me."

He squeezed her again, pressing his lips against the top of her head. "Thank god for that much." He was shaking, he realized, he'd been so terrified that the story would end the same as so many he heard all day long.

But his relief was short-lived.

She sat up suddenly, pulled back from his arms, retreated from his touch. Her eyes fell from his, the slump of her shoulders, the apprehension in her face told him far more than he wanted to know.

His hands balled into fists and his breath started coming in short pants. He wasn't sure he'd be able to resist the urge to punch something anymore. The thought of what else she had to tell him, his certainty that it was awful, it was too much. He couldn't listen. He couldn't sit there and hear Olivia telling him that she'd been assaulted. Tears sprang to his eyes, fairly certain he would die if he had to listen to it.

What choice did he have though? He had to let her tell him. He had to help relieve the burden she was carrying. He had to help her shoulder the weight.

Even if it killed him.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four

"I tried everything – counselors, support groups, I even went to this stupid meditation thing. They all helped a little, I guess, but not enough." Her eyes fixed on some far off point, tears spilling over her cheeks. "But whenever a man gets aroused, any man that tries to touch me," her voice trailed off, the tears overtaking her ability to speak.

Choking back his own desire to cry, knowing that seeing him so upset would only make her feel worse, Elliot waited for her to gain some control over her sobs. He wanted to reach out to her, he wanted to hold her and wipe away her tears, but hell, she'd just told him that she didn't want men touching her. He sucked in a deep breath, willing his voice to remain steady as he spoke. "When did this start?"

He tried to think it over, tried to come up with a particular time when she'd acted strangely, some time when he could berate himself for having not noticed that his partner was in crisis.

The oddly concerned look on her face derailed his thoughts. He'd missed something. Something big. They stared at one another, each wondering which of them had gone completely insane.

Until a shocked look of recognition drained all the color from her face. Her jaw dropped open and she squeezed her eyes closed for a moment before she looked back and forced out a whisper. "I never told you."

She was trying to kill him. He was sure of it. Slowly revealing that she'd kept a terrible assault from him, scaring the crap out of him by letting him imagine no end of awful things. She'd just said she trusted him, but apparently not since she'd kept something from him.

His chin was trembling as he fought to keep his voice even. "What didn't you tell me?" Besides the fact that she'd neglected to tell him something important, even worse was that idea that he hadn't noticed. And even when he tried to search his mind for something that, in retrospect, he should have noticed wasn't able to discern any recent changes in her behavior. He didn't want to believe he didn't know his partner well enough to recognize that something awful had happened to her.

She ducked her head, hearing an accusation he hadn't intended to make. Her whisper was even softer this time, so quiet he could barely make out the word. "Sealview."

His brow furrowed as he looked at her, his mind unable to grasp what she was saying. "Christ, that was years ago, Liv." He'd known something had happened then, he'd tried to get her to talk to him, but she'd gotten better, she'd gone back to being herself. Years, _years_, had gone by. He was trying to figure out what had happened recently, what had caused her to refuse her boyfriend, what had resulted in her not wanted to be touched intimately.

She just stared at him, waiting for him to get it.

And then he did. It was his turn to stare at her with his mouth gaping open in shock.

He thought the dry spell he'd been in for the months since his divorce was enough to induce insanity. Here was his partner, his beautiful, sexy partner, informing him that she hadn't had sex in the years since her assault, the one she'd never confided in him. The one that had been so bad, contrary to the nothing she'd claimed, that it had resulted in her being afraid to be touched.

He fought back his initial urge, the one to get angry and pissed off because she'd neglected to tell him something important, something that as her partner he felt he needed to know considering their line of work, for years. He had to remind himself that her silence wasn't about her not trusting him; it had been about her shaken confidence after being assaulted. He knew there was no point in yelling at her for distrusting him anyway. The punishment she'd suffered both from the attack and from being unable to be intimate for so long had certainly been enough.

He nodded, trying to tell her that he understood, whether he liked it or not was a different story altogether, but he understood. He'd never bothered to admit to the abuse he'd suffered as a child at the hands of his father, the effects of which she had to deal with every time he faced a perp who'd hurt a kid. She'd been trying to protect herself and now that she was finally motivated to share something so painful, chastising her for taking so long would hardly be effective.

He bit his lip, remembering the night they'd locked down the prison with Olivia defenseless inside. He'd been so scared, so desperate to get to her all of a sudden, so convinced that Fin wouldn't be able to keep her safe. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he didn't share some sort of psychic connection with her, having somehow known she was in incredible danger that night. He'd known something had happened, something more than the bruises on her face and arms revealed, something that had hurt her deeply. It wasn't her fault for not having told him; it was his fault for not pressing the issue. He fucking knew better. Of course the victim of a sexual assault would try to pretend everything was fine; he was the Special Victims detective, he should have helped her.

Instead he'd let her sweep it under the rug and let her suffer in silence for years.

He wondered how she could possibly trust him after he'd let her down, after he hadn't been there for her, after he'd utterly failed as her partner, her friend, even as a fellow human being.

She was waiting for him to say something, he realized, something more than his exclamation that made it sound like she ought to have been over it by then.

He found himself asking a question he'd asked her once before. This time, however, he knew he'd get a different answer, an honest answer. "What happened in the basement?"

His words broke the dam that had been keeping her story hidden. She started speaking in a low, controlled voice, the sort of matter-of-fact tone she'd use when she was testifying in court. She explained how she'd initially suspected the wrong man and how by the time she'd realized her mistake, she was already locked in a steel cage with the bastard. She recounted how he'd tried to simply overpower her at first and her attempt to fight back. She spoke of the way he'd thrown her against the wall and how his erection had pressed into her ass.

Elliot nearly gagged at her tale, his guilt returning ten-fold when he realized why she'd been so scared that night, why she'd hidden under her covers in fear when her partner, her trusted friend, had done the same thing. He imagined she'd thought it was all happening all over. He held his tongue, resisting the urge to apologize for his behavior, letting Olivia tell her story, his heart nearly bursting with joy when she told him how she'd managed to get away and hide. He expected that was when Fin had come in, that as terrible as the assault had been at least it had been quick and nowhere near as bad as it could have been.

Instead, she kept speaking, repeating the taunting words of Harris as he'd quickly ferretted out her hiding place. Her voice cracked when she spoke of the way she'd pretended to give up, surrendering herself when it was obvious she had no chance, then receiving a brutal beating in retaliation. She paused long enough to steady her voice, though the rapid rise and fall of her chest gave away how terrified she was of the memory.

His stomach lurched when he listened to how the bastard had handcuffed her to the door. Elliot was unable to not visualize the scene before him. He could practically hear her screams; he knew how frightened his partner would be upon finding herself rendered completely helpless and facing her worst fear.

She was whispering when she repeated Harris' threat, the horrifying words erasing any doubt as to what the rapist had intended. Elliot chewed on his lip, knowing his anger would only scare Olivia more, desperately trying to stop himself from letting loose with his impotent rage.

He squeezed his eyes closed as she recounted the awful sound of the zipper opening, his heart breaking with the knowledge that the strongest woman he'd ever known had been reduced to screaming in terror as her only defense. No wonder she'd been so shaken afterwards, having been inches, and moments, away from having been raped.

No wonder the thought of a man's dick scared her to death.

It would be a long, hard road for her to rebuild the tenuous trust she'd had in men prior to the attack.

And despite knowing how much she didn't want to be touched, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out, his hand cupping her cheek as his thumb wiped away her tears. His voice was as broken as her spirit had been. "Oh, Liv, I'm so sorry."

It was nothing. A drop in the bucket. There were no words, no magical combination of them, that would adequately convey his sorrow, his empathy.

She didn't jerk away from him, rather leaned into his hand. Her eyes met his, revealing she was unashamed of her tears, and he was proud of himself for not giving into his anger. Anger and violence wouldn't have helped. She needed gentleness and acceptance from him.

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She was past the worst of it. She was on the downhill stretch. Her eyes turned away, her cheeks reddening in anticipation of her next words. "Ever since then, I just can't-" She closed her eyes, ducking her chin down to her chest, doing her best to disappear. "As soon as a guy gets hard, I panic."

He couldn't help the tears that fell. He couldn't. There was just too much pain, too much ache, for him to keep it inside. She'd been hurting for years. Years. Hurting and afraid and ashamed and he'd just been going about his business like his fucking world didn't revolve around her. He'd had no idea. He should have paid closer attention. He should have noticed. He should have seen it.

But as she continued, he realized she wasn't accusing him, she had more to say. "I don't want to let that son of a bitch take sex away from me. I don't want to let him ruin that." She glanced at Elliot, still embarrassed, but trying to connect with him anyway. "I don't want him to win."

Squeezing her hand, he smiled through the tears. "He isn't going to win." And it was true because, as ashamed and mortified as Olivia was to reveal the truth, she had and he was going to help her heal. Then she would be whole and happy and that fucker Harris would still be rotting in prison.

His smile widened as his conviction grew. "You're going to be fine. You're going to get better."

She nodded, leaving her hand in his. "That's why I wanted to talk to you."

He felt better, even having the knowledge of her attack was worth it, because he was helping her. "Any time, Liv."

Her eyebrows knit together, confusion evident. "I haven't even said it, how can you agree when you don't know what you're agreeing to?"

And then he was the confused one. "I thought you wanted to tell me about Harris and Joe and-" he trailed off, mindful of her blush. "Isn't that why I'm here?"

Holding his eyes, she slowly turned her head from side to side.

"Is there something else?" He wasn't sure he could handle another horror story, more evidence that he'd been so wrapped up in his personal life he'd ignored his partner when she needed him.

She nodded, her eyes moving constantly, meeting his then darting away then meeting his again. "I wanted to ask for your help."

"Anything, you know that." He didn't hesitate. He didn't need to. If she said she needed him to do something, he knew she really needed it and he wouldn't have to think about it. Anything that was within his power to provide was hers.

"I trust you."

"I know that. I trust you too," he reassured.

"More than anyone else."

He nodded. He knew. He did. And he absolutely trusted her. But there was something about the way she was dragging it out that made him nervous. Regardless of his apprehension, he knew there wasn't anything he'd deny her. He moved closer to her, putting his finger on her chin and turning her to face him. "Anything, Liv. Just say the word."

She nodded and held his eyes for a long, quiet moment. "Will you have sex with me?"


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five

He was hallucinating. He had to be.

He was stark-raving mad. He fucking had to be.

There was no way in hell that his unfuckingbelievably gorgeous partner of a decade and a half had just asked him to have sex with her. It simply wasn't possible.

So he stared at her, waiting for her to say something that would clarify what she'd actually asked and he almost cried in relief when she spoke again, except her words hardly helped.

"I never would have asked while you were married, and even after that, I didn't think you'd be interested, but then that night, well, maybe I dreamt it, but I thought you might be willing." She continued to babble, her anxiety showing through the brave front she was putting up. "I understand if you don't want to, really, there's no pressure-"

He pressed his finger to her lips to stop her nervous speech. "Liv, don't, it's ok, I get it."

She let out a heavy sigh, her whole body relaxing. "Ok, good." She looked at him expectantly, as though the only hard part, the only difficulty, had been hers in having to say it.

And he had just repeatedly assured her that he would do anything she asked. Of course she would assume the tough part was over.

Belatedly, he wished he could amend the statement to anything but_ that_.

He hadn't expected that what she'd ask would involve having to give up so very much of himself, to hurt himself so deeply. He knew that wasn't what she intended. She was expecting that he'd enjoy a good fuck and she'd be comfortable with him and the whole thing would be mutually beneficial. She wasn't thinking it would kill him to have casual sex with her; she didn't have any idea that he loved her.

Which was his own fault for not telling her.

Though, he realized, he really did love her. Truly.

Enough to kill himself to save her, if that was what she needed.

Enough to have sex with her and walk away and never let her know what her request was doing to him.

But if he was going to do it, if he was going to rip his heart out for her, he had to make sure that it wouldn't wind up hurting her too. It would be worth sacrificing himself to save her, but not if she would end up worse off than she already was.

He just had to figure out how to make that call without making her feel like he was rejecting her.

She, however, had no idea of what he was thinking. She waited, probably expecting agreement. "So, uh, you interested?"

She said it like she was offering to buy him lunch, not share something so intensely personal.

Maybe she'd been in sex crimes too long if she no longer had any qualms with the concept of casual sex. She'd never liked it before. Or maybe that had been him. He had been the one married to his high school sweetheart most of his life. It seemed that Olivia thought being single changed that.

But that couldn't be right. He knew Olivia better than that. He knew she had morals. He knew she respected his. She was well aware of his faith, of his beliefs, of everything that made him who he was. Olivia knew him, probably better than anyone else, probably better than his ex-wife. She wasn't asking a coworker to be a meaningless warm body for her pleasure. Therefore, there was only one other option. Her request meant something entirely different from what he'd initially thought. She was asking someone she loved, someone she had to know loved her back at least on some level, to physically demonstrate that love and help her heal from a terrible ordeal. She didn't want a one-night stand. She knew she would see him every day afterward. She knew exactly what she was asking. It wasn't a random idea that occurred to her when he offered her a ride home. She'd been thinking about it for a long time and had only just decided it was the right time to mention it, perhaps when bumping into Joe on the job forced her to accept the problem wasn't going to go away on its own.

Sure, he would have to constantly remind himself after the fact that it wasn't going to happen again and undoubtedly deny his desire to touch her all the time, but the latter was hardly a new issue in his life. He'd been trying, and failing, to come up with excuses to touch her for all the years they'd known one another. Here she was, offering him exactly what he wanted, not just in the physical sense, but in the emotional too. If he were to help her through the aftermath of her assault, they would wind up closer than they had ever been, closer than he'd ever expected they could be, maybe even close enough to admit how deeply they cared for each other.

She understood having sex would bring them closer together. She wanted to share something with him that she was too scared to share with anyone else.

And in that case, how the hell could he refuse?

He couldn't. There was really no choice to be made.

Even if it turned out to be a colossal mistake that broke his heart, he couldn't turn his back on her, not when she'd revealed so much to him, not when she'd made it clear that she trusted him more than anyone else, not when she needed him.

With his mind made up he reached out again, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. His heart was racing, his mind already reeling with the notion that he would be making love to Olivia Benson. Part of him felt as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning, wanting to jump up and down in excitement. The rest of him was scared to death that she'd be terrified of him despite her trust, that she wouldn't really want him, that he wouldn't be able to please her.

Finally he spoke, hoping to hide both his enthusiasm and his trepidation. "Of course I'm interested."

He watched as she closed her eyes and let out a huge sigh of relief. A smile slowly lit her face as she cautiously met his eyes again. "Thank you. I was so nervous about asking. I thought you'd say no."

"Was I supposed to say no?" He panicked, thinking maybe she'd actually wanted him to refuse, though he couldn't quite grasp why she'd go through the trouble of explaining her whole story to him if that had been her goal. Then it occurred to him that perhaps telling him the story, finally making him aware what had happened to her at Sealview had been the point exactly as he'd originally thought, that she'd only pretended there was another reason.

She shook her head. "No, god, I think I would have died from the embarrassment." As if to prove her words, her cheeks flushed red again.

"If you change your mind, it's fine, you know." He was being honest, merely stating a fact, but he realized as he said the words that they would probably go a long way toward helping soothe her. Under the circumstances, she would need to hear those words repeatedly, even, or perhaps especially, when things started to progress physically.

She looked down, her smile disappearing. "Is it? You won't be mad?"

He shook his head. Mad? No. Heartbroken? Most likely. "If I were the type of guy to get mad at you for changing your mind, Liv, I'd be the wrong guy to ask." He squeezed her hand in reassurance while reminding himself not to get too attached to the idea of physical contact. She wanted to sleep with him because she trusted him, not because she was looking for a romantic relationship.

Although, the devil on his shoulder insisted, if he were to please her enough, she might come back to him for more.

"Yeah, that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" A laugh escaped her lips. "But you never struck me as that kind of a guy."

He was glad to hear it, to know that while he'd undoubtedly come off as an asshole regarding his temper a few million times, at least she knew him well enough to know he wasn't the sort of pig who would try to coerce an unwilling, frightened woman into his bed. Under the circumstances though, he figured she needed all the reassurance he could provide. "I'm not."

She nodded. "Good."

Then they fell silent, sitting beside one another with their hands joined.

It was up to him, he realized, to move things along. She'd gone out on a limb with her request and with her revelation of how difficult intimacy had been for her. She was going to let him take the lead. If he didn't, he suspected they'd sit there exactly as they were until they fell asleep.

He knew she was too scared of what would happen to make the first move, afraid that he wouldn't want, or be able, to stop and that it would somehow be her fault for having initiated it. Although she was leaving it up to him to start, he wasn't about to do anything without her input. The more control she felt she had, the more likely she'd be to not get scared.

He shifted, turning himself toward her slightly, trying not to be too eager. "So, uh, how do you want to do this?"

Talk about awkward. Sex wasn't really something he was used to talking about. Rape, yes, that was work. But sex was different. Very, very different. He was used to having sex with his wife, where he didn't need to say a word, where he'd just move in to kiss her and that would be that.

If he were comfortable talking about it, he probably wouldn't have been such a monk since his divorce.

"Um," she shrugged self-consciously, her eyes darting over toward him before she looked away again. "Slowly, I guess."

Well, now, that might prove to be far more difficult than he'd let on. While he had no intention of pushing her or of trying to move things along too quickly, he had no conscious control over his body's reaction to her. Just talking about making love to her had him ready to go. The tiniest bit of encouragement from her body and he'd be hard as a fucking rock and damn near dying for release. Olivia had said that was when things always went south. He very seriously doubted that she'd appreciate his dick's impatience.

But what the hell was he supposed to do about that? He was attracted to her and she knew it, otherwise he'd be less than useless when it came to helping her. She knew how eager he would be, she'd felt it already those months earlier. She trusted him to keep himself under control even when he was turned on. That was the point after all. He said a silent prayer that he hadn't made a very big, completely unfixable mistake.

With his heart pounding, he scooted closer still to his partner. He felt like a bumbling idiot as he shifted around nervously, bringing his arm to rest on the back of the sofa behind her shoulders. She'd just been in his arms a little bit earlier, snuggled into his chest while she talked, and yet she was stiff as a board now, unresponsive to his movements. He wanted to say something, make a joke at the very least, about how sure she was of making this change when she was obviously so terrified, but he couldn't. Not only would he not dare upsetting her or teasing her over her fear, but he wasn't convinced his voice would work if he tried.

He figured she'd become an active participant when she truly realized that she was safe. Until then, he was going to have to run the show.

He moved his other hand to her cheek, guiding her face toward his, holding her eyes. His thumb traced over her lips, feeling the shudder that ran through her at his caress. He wanted to kiss her; hell, he'd wanted to kiss her for years. But not when she was so scared that she was shaking.

Forcing out a hoarse whisper, he tried to comfort her. "It's ok, Liv. It's just me."

Her eyes moved up, meeting his, then darting down to his lips. She nodded with a hint of a smile forming. "I know," she whispered back.

And then he got it. It was just him. That was why she was shaking, not out of fear. It was one hell of an ego boost, the likes of which he'd never had. He couldn't believe she wanted him that much. But he'd have plenty of time in the future to contemplate her reaction to him, to his touch, to his proximity.

Right now, it was time for action.

His hand slid back, his fingers sifting through her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head.

Then he moved forward, not sure at that point which one of them was shaking harder. He paused with his lips just shy of hers, pushing his incredible luck, giving her one last chance to walk away before he embarrassed both of them with his desperation.

"Are you sure?"

She closed her eyes, waiting an interminable millisecond before she opened them again and nodded.

And then, finally, his lips touched hers.


	6. Chapter 6

Part Six

Any confusion Elliot might have felt regarding his decision was erased the moment their lips touched. Her mouth was soft and warm and fit perfectly against his, her hot breath mingling with his when her lips parted in answer to his unspoken question. She sighed and pushed closer to him as she allowed his tongue to explore her mouth, her hands clinging to his head, her fingers clawing at his neck.

When he fully processed that she wasn't trying to get away, his fingers released their hold on her hair, sliding slowly down over her shoulders, down her arms, then in to find her waist. He knew he was supposed to be taking it slow, that she needed him to take it slow, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't stop his hands from gripping her waist and pulling her body even closer. It was only a kiss, their first kiss, and he couldn't control himself. God only knew what was going to happen when things moved further along.

He backed off from the aggressive kiss, aiming for a bit of oxygen to stop his head from spinning, but Olivia wasn't having it. Her tongue followed as his retreated into his mouth and she took full advantage of his moment of shock to slip her tongue against his.

He really had no control whatsoever over his body at that point. None. Not while Olivia Benson had her tongue in his mouth. His arms worked of their own accord, yanking her into him, creating as much physical contact as he could. Her legs opened as she straddled him, her inner thighs pressed along his outer thighs. Her chest slammed into his, her arms immediately shifting around his back to keep him from separating them. And though her mouth shifted as she gained the height advantage, her kiss didn't register the change.

And though Olivia seemed very much to be losing herself in the sensations, something Elliot sincerely wished he had the luxury of contemplating, he could not do the same. He desperately wanted to, but he had to restrain himself. She'd said that her panic started as soon as her partner got hard, which Elliot knew was about to be a problem. Considering that his erection had started to form before their lips had even touched, with Olivia straddling his lap, not only was he unable to stop his body from reacting, but he also knew that she was bound to notice any moment.

He could only pray that he wouldn't sit there helplessly while she ran in terror from him again. The first time had been hard enough. Now that he knew why she was so afraid, what she'd endured, he'd feel even worse being unable to comfort her when he was the reason she was scared.

And although he didn't doubt for one second Olivia's claim that a turned-on man frightened her, he wondered if she had any idea of the effect she had on him. She was in his lap for god's sake, her hands possessively gripping the back of his shoulders, her mouth working against his as she continued to kiss him within an inch of his life. He'd have serious questions about any man in his position who wasn't turned on. Could an unbelievably sexy woman like Olivia honestly not know what she did to a man's ability to control himself, let alone his body?

Deciding that she was showing no signs of fear, Elliot fought her for some command of the kiss, chasing her tongue back into her mouth and nipping gently at her lips. Moving away from her lips, his mouth trailed slowly down to her chin, then down her throat. She groaned as her head fell back, giving him full access. As he kissed her neck, his eyes periodically opened, trying to memorize the sight she presented. Her hair was mussed from his touch, her lips wet, her throat exposed to him.

It caught him off-guard to realize that his hands had slipped under the edge of her shirt, his fingers kneading her soft skin. He had no recollection of having put them there, hadn't realized that he was definitely moving faster than he'd intended. Still, he found the sight of his hands disappearing under her bunched shirt incredibly intoxicating and he attempted to file it away in his brain for some lonely night in the future.

Afraid of what else he'd do without even noticing it, he pulled back. He never wanted to stop kissing her, touching her, but he'd promised to help her and so he had to slow things down enough that he wouldn't push her harder than she wanted. He needed to slow down before, god forbid, he got to a point where he couldn't. Carefully moving his hands to her waist, outside of her shirt, he applied a little bit of pressure, forcing more space between their bodies.

She was breathing as hard as he was, her eyes still closed, as she leaned back.

It made him feel a hell of a lot better to see that she was as affected by his touch as he was by hers. Though it didn't really do much for his confidence when she started to laugh. It wasn't a nervous laugh either, it was a full belly laugh that crinkled the corners of her eyes as she shook.

He could feel the heat burning in his cheeks as he blushed. "What's so funny?"

As her laughter died off, she sighed and let her weight rest fully on his legs. "I'm sorry, I just-" She shook her head as she started to laugh again, harder than she had the first time.

He wondered what it was, what had her so hysterical during something that Elliot didn't find a bit funny. Had he been too eager? Had she not liked the way he kissed? Was it the erection straining against his pants even as she laughed at him? He'd been married since he was barely more than a child, he'd been faithful, he'd only had sex with one woman in his life. Maybe he was doing something wrong and Kathy had either not known or not wanted to tell him.

Well, that was certainly a mood killer. All the mental attempts in the world hadn't killed his erection like a woman laughing hysterically at him. He wanted to storm away. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run out of her apartment with his tail between his legs, change his name, move away, and never face her again.

But she was still in his lap.

And she didn't appear to have any intention of moving.

Forever and a day later, her laughter had subsided mostly, only the occasional chuckle escaping her lips. It was then that she leaned forward, tightening her hold on his shoulders, tucking her face next to his. The motion shifted her weight in his lap, reminding his dick that it still very much liked her, even if she was making fun of him.

"Sorry to ruin the mood there." She snickered again, turning her face down until her breath fell on his neck. "It's just so pathetic."

Suddenly, he wasn't sure his dick liked her anymore. And he sure as hell didn't understand why she was still sitting nuzzling him while she was calling the size of his penis pathetic. Forget running away, he just wanted to fucking disappear.

Olivia sat up, her cheeks a furious red. "I'm so embarrassed. It's been so long, you know?" She ducked down, hanging her head. "I'm not normally this desperate."

Fucking hell. Was she going to sit there and insult him? Did she think he was going to sit there and listen?

He shifted under her, trying to get his pathetic equipment out of contact with her. "Let me up, Liv." He'd really never considered himself small, but apparently he was some sort of anomaly, so far below her regular standards that she couldn't control herself.

She caught his eye as she tried to steady herself on his lap. "What's the matter? I said I was sorry."

He shook his head. "I can't do this." Hell, after the way she'd acted, he wasn't sure he'd ever get it up again. Of course, that might be a blessing that would keep him from embarrassing himself in the future. Giving up on her ever deciding to move, he reached out and pushed her off him. "This was a mistake."

It was the heartbreak on her face that stopped him before he got to his feet. He'd already promised himself that he would give her anything she wanted, no matter the cost. He'd already accepted that he was letting her crush his heart. Really not much of a stretch to let her crush his ego as well.

He took a deep breath and sighed. He couldn't walk away. And he knew, despite the way she'd cut him to the quick, his body would respond to her as quickly every time she touched him. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he met her eyes and let her see the spark of anger there. He was willing to help her, to give himself over to her, but he didn't have to enjoy being mistreated over his attempt to render assistance. "Don't laugh at me, Olivia."

Her mouth dropped open as she looked at him, her hands stopping in mid-air on their way to reach for him. "Laugh at you? I was laughing at me." She looked around, giving the perfect act of confusion. "I'm so fucking desperate that I'm climbing into your lap. It's been years, El. I'm so hard up I'm nearly getting off on a kiss."

What the…

She looked down, conspicuously eyeing his lap. "There's definitely nothing about you that's laughable."

Suddenly he was quite pleased that he hadn't run away. Not with the appreciative way she was looking at him. His hand flew to her cheek, wanting to soothe the hurt his refusal had caused, which he realized was probably along the lines of how much he'd hurt when he thought she was making fun of his size.

"You're not pathetic. That was one hell of a kiss." His lips curved up in a grin, watching as hers did the same.

She nodded. "I thought it was just me." Her shoulders moved slightly in a shrug. "You were pushing me away."

"I was trying to move slowly." His hand lowered, finding the warmth of her thigh as it seeped through her pants. "You might not have noticed, but I'm kind of desperate here too."

Olivia said nothing, but she shifted over, the side of her body pressing along his as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Encouraged, he continued. "And you said you got scared as soon as-"

Her fingers pressed against him lips to silence him. He turned toward her, finding her eyes firm in their conviction. "Not with you." She blushed again, her eyes closing for a moment before finding his again. "I just felt-" she shrugged. "You'd think with the things we talk about all day long that this would be easier to talk about.

He knew exactly what she meant. He cupped her cheeks, pulling her eyes back to his. "If we're going to have sex, we should be able to talk about it." He waited for her to nod before he continued. "But we've never been too good with talking, so maybe you can show me instead."

She nodded again, then angled her head toward the bedroom. "Not that we weren't enjoying ourselves here, but maybe we should relocate?"

Elliot had certainly expected, hoped, to wind up there at some point. Screwing her on the sofa was not what he wanted for their first time, especially when there would probably not be a second time. He stood up and offered her his hand, leading her toward the dark room. He felt her hesitation, understood her concerns with losing the benefit of sight. Being able to look at him and remind herself that she was with someone she trusted probably meant a hell of a lot to her under the circumstances. He reached out and switched on the light, wincing at the glaring brightness bouncing off her white comforter. "Wow, that's bright."

"We can keep it off," she said in a tone that revealed exactly how non-negotiable the light was.

"No, it's ok." He looked around. "How about the lamp?"

"Burned out."

He shook his head. "Maybe we should stay in the living room then?"

She flipped off the switch, moving closer to him as her eyes adjusted. "I trust you."

"I don't want you any more scared than you already are." Switching the light back on, he smiled at her. "Besides, I want to see you." He'd already spent enough nights in the dark with his eyes squeezed closed pretending it was his partner beneath him. He wanted to be able to keep his eyes open and enjoy the fact that it actually was her this time.

"I'm not having sex with my sunglasses on. The whole point of this light is to wake me up when I'm tired, so trust me, there's nothing you can do in here when it's on besides get dressed and leave."

He chuckled at the stalemate. "Candles?"

"Oh, now we're going for romance? You should have bought me dinner first." She paused, her hand hovering above the switch. "Elliot, if I can't do this with you," her hand dropped down, plunging the room into darkness, "there's no point."


	7. Chapter 7

Part Seven

It took a moment, but when his eyes adjusted to the low light, he realized he could just make out her features with the light from the living room. He met her eyes, wishing he could see them better, giving her a moment to realize she could see him as well. "You're the boss."

She reached for his waist, pulling his badge and gun from his belt. "Don't think we'll be needing these."

He grinned. "Might want to hold onto the handcuffs for later."

He didn't need to be able to see her face clearly to feel the way she tensed. He tensed himself, realizing a moment too late just how insensitive his words had been. "I'm sorry, Liv, I'm so sorry."

She nodded, her movements still jerky and stilted when she laid their weapons and badges on her night stand. "I know. It's ok." Her tone was laced with anger, but Elliot was sure it was at the situation rather than at him.

"It's not ok. I wasn't thinking and I should be." He waited for her to turn back toward him before he stepped closer, resting his hands on her waist. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for saying that. If you want to stop, if you want to change your mind, say the word."

"I will," she said with a nod.

His hands moved to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Not just now. Any time. You say stop and I'll stop, ok?"

There was a long, silent stare as she seemed to fully comprehend what he was saying. Then she nodded again, firmly this time. "Ok."

Her hands found his chest, pressing lightly, slowly sliding down toward his waist, redirecting them from the conversation with a steadfast determination he truly hoped she felt. "So where were we?"

He leaned in to kiss her, stopping a hair short. "I might need you to pinch me at some point so I know I'm not dreaming."

She laughed softly as her arms snaked around his waist. "I doubt I was a nervous basket case in these dreams of yours."

As close as he was, he could see her, could see the anxiety in her expression, could feel the fear in her body. He wanted to reassure her and only one thing came to mind. "I lo-" Somehow he managed to stop the word before it fell the rest of the way out.

Good god that was the last thing she needed to hear.

He was there to be her friend, her partner. Not her lover. She didn't need the added stress of finding out he was in love with her. She was scared enough as it was. Finding out that he'd want more from her than she was able to give would only increase the pressure she was feeling.

He swallowed hard and hoped she was too anxious to have figured out what he'd almost said. "You're sure about this?"

Rather than answer, she reached for his tie, loosening the knot and pulling the material from his collar. Then she moved onto the buttons of his shirt, unfastening the top two before she moved forward and pressed her mouth against his neck.

So much for never getting another erection. At the feel of her tongue on his throat, he was as hard as he'd ever been. The rest of his body quickly followed suit, his hands moving to her shirt, tugging on the hem. He hesitated, waiting for some indication that she was ready to be so exposed. Her arms lifted overhead, giving him all the permission he needed to pull her shirt off.

Free of the shirt, her hands fell back down to his waist, her fingers gripping him a little too tightly as he looked at her. Her slim waist, her full breasts, the dark lace of her bra curling patterns against her skin. His hands moved carefully, starting at her shoulders, tracing down her arms, his thumbs just barely brushing the side of her breasts.

"My god, you're beautiful."

"Good thing the light's out, right," she joked, her shaky voice revealing the fear that was still present.

His eyes snapped to hers. "I'll turn the light on and say it again if you like."

Her fingers moved back to his shirt, finishing the buttons and sliding the shirt down his arms. Then her hands splayed across his chest. "Talk about beautiful. You been working out, Stabler?"

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her nearly bare chest against his. "Been waiting for this for fifteen years, you think I'd risk not being ready?"

She moved her hands between them, tracing the curves of his muscles on his chest and stomach. "I've been waiting for this too." Her hands snaked up, curling around his head and pulling him down to kiss her. "Fifteen years is too long."

He couldn't respond, not only was his tongue busy mapping her mouth once again, but his thought process was entirely derailed by the fact that Olivia was pushing him backwards onto the bed and climbing on top of him. He doubted she really cared for more conversation, not with the way she was kissing him. Her hands were feather light as they danced over his skin and he almost wished her touch was heavier, except that the goosebumps her touch produced proved she knew exactly what she was doing. She broke the kiss, trailing her lips and tongue along his chin and throat, chasing the path of her hands down his chest.

He couldn't resist the groan that fell out of his mouth. The thought alone of Olivia touching him was enough to make him groan; the actual touch, well, shit, that might just kill him. He reached up, wanting to share some of the ecstasy with the woman who was causing it. His hands found the front clasp of her bra, but he paused, looking up at her face, waiting for permission. She nodded at him, letting him free her breasts of the lace, moving her hands away from him to toss the fabric behind her.

And then it was her turn to groan as his hands moved to cup her breasts, his thumbs swiftly flicking over their peaks. He couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself, didn't even realize he'd intended to do it. He was just leaning up, his mouth closing around one of her nipples, sucking on it. He felt her nails digging into his skin and, though recognized that it hurt, he really didn't give a fuck.

But it seeped into his hormone-hazed brain that she might be trying to tell him something, that she might have spoken when he was too addled with lust to hear her, that his actions might be frightening to her.

His mouth abandoned her breast immediately as his head fell back to the bed. "Are you," he stopped to breathe, wondering why he was so short of breath, and then promptly noticed the half-dressed sex god above him. That was he at all coherent was a blessing. "Ok, Liv?"

She stared down at him, her face dazed, her head bobbing slowly as she processed the words. "Yeah, yes, why'd you stop?"

He looked down, seeing where her nails were still biting into his arms. "You were - I thought I was hurting you."

"Oh, sorry." Her fingers released finally, revealing marks on his skin visible even in the dark. He wouldn't know if they were bleeding or just red until he could see, but he honestly didn't care. "No, you were, uh, no, definitely not hurting me."

He would be happy to be bleeding if it meant he was giving her that much pleasure. He smirked up at her, unable to keep the self-satisfied gleam from his eyes, hoping she could see it in the low light. "Well, then, in that case-"

And then his mouth was full once again.

And her fingers were slicing back through his skin once more.

He knew better than to let up this time though. He kept at his task, one hand massaging her breast, his fingers teasing that nipple, while his tongue teased the other. She moaned above him, her hold on his arms remaining tight, her hips pressing down onto his. She had to feel his erection, hell she was rubbing herself against it, but like she'd said, there was no indication that she felt anything other than desire with him.

He could only hope that he'd be able to remember that information later, when he had time to decipher what it meant. Was it that she truly trusted him that much? Was it that she knew he'd stop no matter how turned on he was if she asked? Was it that she wanted him so much it overrode any tendency toward fear she would normally feel in that situation? It was a long shot, ridiculously so, but still, he wanted to believe it was at least possible.

He shifted slightly, moving to lavish the same attention on her other breast, finding her every bit as receptive. Her moans were more or less constant, her arms were shaking, and her crotch was grinding onto his erection. He heard the change in her breathing, heard the way her moans died out as she began to pant. She was close. He knew normally she would never be so close so fast, but she'd already confided in him that it had been years. It wasn't a reflection on his skills; she really was that desperate, like she'd said.

In that moment, he realized he had to prove himself to her. Because she'd be satisfied with anything. Because he wasn't going to let her settle for less than the best.

He redoubled his efforts, sucking on her, rubbing her, thrusting his hips up harder against her.

It only took a second for her thighs to tighten around him, her fingers to grip even tighter, her panting to become a scream.

His head fell back, releasing the tension that had built in his neck, and he watched smugly while she rode the waves of pleasure. He shouldn't feel so proud, his ministrations had only barely helped what she'd been beyond desperate to release. But he'd fix that. They had all night.

Her upper body dropped onto his and she sighed. "Thank you."

He laughed, surprised at the polite words. "No, Liv, thank you."

She pried her relaxed body up again, coming to sit on her knees, still straddling him. "Scoot back."

He hadn't even realized his feet were hanging off the bed, but leave it to his partner to pay attention to every little detail. "Yes, ma'am." He pulled himself backwards until he felt her pillows behind his head, and then settled down against them.

Olivia's eyes moved over his chest, followed the outline of his erection straining against his pants, lingering over every inch of him. There was an unreadable expression on her face, at least with her backlit by the living room light. In fact, she looked almost angelic, a golden halo peeking around her head.

Her hands moved onto his chest, her fingers running along his muscles again. "You're really fucking strong, aren't you?"

He kept trying to make out her face despite the impossibility of it. He was strong, tried to make up for all of his emotional and mental short comings by building his muscles. He always wanted to be able to protect the people he loved, Olivia included. But watching her feeling him, the product of his intense workouts, he realized for the first time that his sheer size might be more of a threat than a comfort to her. He didn't want to scare her. Ever.

And then it occurred to him that they'd achieved her goal already.

It was disappointing, but true. She'd been able to enjoy herself with an eager, excited man. She'd gotten off with a man's help, and though Elliot knew it hadn't been the best orgasm ever, he recognized that it was enough to take that desperate edge off.

Unfortunately, he would be left all wound up and even more desperate than he'd been and with no resolution besides himself, which would undoubtedly not be the same as coming inside Olivia's unbelievable body. He groaned at the thought, aware of, but unable to prevent, his hips pushing up, seeking her warmth, her touch.

She smiled at him, her face lowering to place a wet kiss on his throat. "Relax, El, it's your turn."

He whimpered at the incredible low, throaty whisper he'd never dared imagine his partner could produce. He'd be hearing that voice in his head at all sorts of inopportune times in the future. He could just tell. He wasn't sure he'd mind either.

He reached up, his hands cradling his partner's face and made the most altruistic gesture of his life. "No, Liv, you don't have to. It's ok." He might die from the worst case of blue balls known to mankind, but he wouldn't force, wouldn't even expect, Olivia to keep going. "You've made a hell of a lot of progress tonight. You can stop if you want."

Judging from the way she froze and tensed every muscle in her body, Elliot knew he'd said the wrong thing. In fact, when she looked down, her shoulders drooping, he was pretty sure it was the most wrong thing anyone in history had ever said.


	8. Chapter 8

Part Eight

She shifted off him, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapping around her middle.

He squeezed his eyes closed, rolling over to place his hand on her back. "Liv, wait."

"No, it's fine. You're right. You should go." Her voice was so firm and controlled and commanding that he almost did as she asked.

But he couldn't do that to her. She was feeling insecure, and having just revealed so much of herself and her private life to him and letting her defenses down completely as she came from his touch, he knew what she was interpreting as an insult would cut a lot deeper than it normally might. He couldn't just leave her like that.

He sat up behind her, moving his legs on either side of her and pulling her back against his chest. "You misunderstood me, Liv." He nuzzled the side of her neck, feeling her body go slack at his touch. "Believe me, there's nothing I want more than to keep going. I just don't want to pressure you. And you have made strides tonight, considering what you told me happened with Joe and the other guys you've seen since you were assaulted." She didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either so he kept talking. "If you want to keep going, Liv, you don't have to ask me twice. I just want to make sure you're sure. I don't want to make you think you have to do something you don't want to do."

She nodded, slowly leaning her head against his. "Like I said, El, if I can't do this with you, I can't do it." Her hands found his and tangled their fingers together. "I've waited a long time, Elliot, and maybe I didn't explain myself right, but I've thought about it carefully and I would never have brought it up if I wasn't sure."

Pressing a kiss against her cheek, he tightened his arms around her. "Ok."

"But if you don't want to, El, please just say it, don't try to make me rethink it." He could hear the hesitation in her voice and knew he'd already caused her to do exactly what she'd asked him not to.

Oh, hell, he was giving up. There was nothing he could reveal of himself that would equal what she'd given up of herself to tell him about her sex life since Sealview. She deserved the same level of openness from him in return.

"I want to, Liv." He swallowed hard and hoped she wouldn't hate him for saying it. "I've never wanted anything more in my life."

She turned her head again, catching his lips with hers, silencing any doubts he had. She had improved on any other night with any other man, but he understood that she wouldn't be convinced, not until she knew she could go all the way without panicking. And, he realized, his erection still safely tucked inside his pants was probably a lot less frightening to an assault victim than it would be if he were naked and on top of her and about to enter her. She was undoubtedly well aware of that as well, as always one step ahead of him.

No matter the tone of his thoughts, the mere idea of being naked and about to enter her was enough to pull a groan from his lips.

Luckily, Olivia appreciated his excitement. "Oh, yeah, I think it was your turn, wasn't it?"

The whole fucking night so far had been his turn. He could barely believe his luck. But he let his arms fall from her so he could scoot back to the middle of the bed where he'd been previously. He smiled up at her as she turned around, crawling on all fours back to him. She stopped before she straddled him this time, raising an eyebrow as she eyed his belt.

"It would appear you're overdressed, detective."

All too happy to enjoy the view of his partner's very bare chest, he let his eyes drift slowly over her top half, frowning when he reached her work slacks, not that he'd ever look at her clothes in the office quiet the same way again. "I could say the same thing about you."

She smirked. "One thing at a time." Then she reached for his belt, her hands steady and sure as she unfastened it and moved immediately for the button and zipper on his pants. She made quick work of them and his boxers, dragging them down his body in a way that belied her recent lack of practice. She wasn't afraid, not with him, just like she'd said. She hadn't hesitated a bit.

Then she retook her place over him, her thighs spread outside of his, her eyes drinking in the sight of his exposed body. With a grin, she met his eyes and once again he wished that he could better see her expression. "Oh, yeah," she purred at him. "You're definitely the pretty one here."

Her hands started on his pecs, tracing their shape, then slowly moving down carefully taking her time as though she were trying to memorize him the same way he was trying to memorize her. He wanted to correct her, promise her that any time she wanted to look at him he'd be happy to let her explore, but he didn't dare interrupt her study of his body.

Her mouth moved in next, following her hands, her lips and tongue drawing vague patterns as her body slowly lowered along his.

It was when her tongue hit his belly button that he realized her intent, that she wasn't simply exploring him, and he nearly came at the thought alone. But then he pictured all too easily the story she'd told him, the way Lowell Harris had tried to force that very thing from her, the way she'd choked on the words when she revealed it to him. He understood why she was doing it. He just wished she wasn't.

He couldn't stop her, not again, not so soon, not when any resistance against something he wanted, something she knew he wanted, would undermine her self-esteem. She'd think he was rejecting her. But fuck, the last thing he wanted was for her to have a flashback or get scared and have the sight of her partner in her head in place of Harris.

He'd never in his life been nervous, not even his first time. He'd always been eager. He fought to keep himself from hyperventilating, not wanting to reveal his distress to the woman who was likely more nervous than he was. She shimmied her body lower still, her hands brushing down below his waist, carefully moving in, stopping just short of touching him as she raised her eyes to his.

He was scared to death, hoping that his pleasure wasn't about to cause terrible pain and fear for her. Even as he fisted his hands in her comforter to keep himself from reaching for her, he saw no signs of concern or worry in his partner. She was determined, her tense body steeled for it, leaving him to wish that she didn't see going down on him like some unpleasant duty that needed to be completed before she could move on to something more enticing.

But he said nothing, unable to speak the moment her hand wrapped firmly around the base of his dick, unable to think when her tongue reached out to taste the tip before she took him into her mouth.

And then he wasn't aware of anything anymore. Nothing at all besides the feel of her hot, wet mouth around him, the softness of her tongue, the moisture of her lips sliding up and down, the gentle pressure of her hand as she held him steady, the teasing of her other hand on his balls. Never in his life had he felt such exquisite pleasure, never, no matter how many times his former wife had done the same thing. It was the fact that it was her, his partner, his Olivia, doing that to him that made it so unfathomably wonderful. He wanted to stay like that forever. And somehow, despite the trauma she'd endured, Olivia seemed perfectly content to stay there too, her eyes locked on his as she drove him out of his mind.

"Liv, uh-" It took every ounce of strength in his body to warn her, went against every instinct not to let her finish. "You need to stop or this is going to be over earlier than we planned."

Her eyes continued to hold his, her mouth still working, as she considered the options. She seemed rather reluctant when she finally let him go, running her tongue along the length of him one last time.

"Oh, fuck, Liv," he ground out, willing himself not to give into the sensation.

She lifted herself slightly, crawling back up his body, allowing her chest to rub against him the entire way. She was pleased with herself, not just for having faced her fear, but for having affected her partner so deeply. He could read her well enough to recognize the signs of smugness on his partner even if he could barely make out her features.

She smiled, a hint of playfulness in her eyes. "Well, now, we don't want to end this party too soon, do we?"

The feel of her body pressing into his, the look in her eyes, the sound of her voice – it drowned out words in the back of his head reminding him they weren't just having a roll in the hay for the hell of it. He wrapped one arm around her waist, securing her to him, and then rolled them over in one swift motion. As much as he'd enjoyed having Olivia's body moving above him, whenever he'd pictured them having sex – which was far more often than he wanted to admit - she was always below him.

And seeing her with her hair fanned out on the pillow, her mouth open and wet, her breasts moving with each heaving breath she took, was everything he'd imagined. More.

Because he wasn't imagining it.

It was his turn to smirk. "Turnabout is fair play, Olivia."

He watched her hands grab onto the blanket exactly as his had and the way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Her breath hitched in anticipation as he copied her movements, working his hands and mouth and lips and tongue down her body, tasting every bit of her skin on his way. He paused at the waistband of her pants, glancing up at her hooded eyes to confirm that he was allowed to continue and finding nothing but acceptance.

He took his time drawing her pants and underwear down her body. Partially to give her every opportunity to stop him, mostly to revel in the sensation of touching the full length of her magnificent legs. Those legs that had haunted his dreams even since he'd seen her in the red dress. He'd never imagined he might get the chance to touch them and he made sure he took full advantage of the access she was granting him. Once he dropped the last of her clothing on the floor, he took more time to work his way back up to his ultimate goal. He took hold of her ankle and kissed all the way up to her hip before he returned and repeated his actions with the other leg. She was moaning again as he worked his way along her inner thighs, nearly overwhelming him with the scent of her desire.

He didn't know how he was ever going to walk away from her, not after having this experience, not after sharing so much with her, but he'd have to think about that some other time. Some time when he wasn't gazing up Olivia's nude body with his nose buried in her curls and his tongue gliding along the most intimate parts of her. There was nowhere else he wanted to be and he was going to enjoy it as long as he could.

And he'd be damned if she wasn't going to enjoy it too.


	9. Chapter 9

Part Nine

He took his time, as much as he could, considering how eager he was. Content to enjoy himself, he listened to her sighs and moans for direction and waited for the clenches of body to tell him he'd interpreted her signals correctly. His lips and tongue worked around the bundle of nerves while his fingers found their way inside her, interpreting her whimpers as an indication he was performing his task well. He moved carefully at first, allowing her time to stop him, giving her time to realize his intent with each movement. But everything he did drew only more encouragement from his partner.

It was all too soon that he found his rhythm had sped up to match her thrashing and shouts. One of his arms tried to hold her hips still so he could continue to work his magic on her. His other hand slid in and out of her as fast as he could, combining with his teasing tongue and sucking mouth to rip an almost unnatural scream from her throat as her body seized with her orgasm.

He watched her, her body slick with sweat as her back arched, her breasts bouncing as she jerked, her fingers knotting in the sheet. He loved the image of her so preoccupied with her own pleasure that she was completely uninhibited as she flopped back onto the bed. Her hair was tangled and disheveled, remains of her mascara smeared below her eyes. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and he knew if he lived a hundred years, he'd never, ever forget the way she looked right then.

He left his fingers inside of her, kept licking at her clit until her tremors completely subsided. She was relaxed and practically purring when he crawled atop her again, his lips immediately pressing against hers. Every part of her tasted so good he knew he'd never get enough.

He was nearly as winded as she was, simply from watching her ride. And more than a little proud of the sated way her eyes slowly opened. She gazed up at him, a smile forming on her mouth.

He couldn't help but smile back. "Hey."

"Hey you." She stretched, her smile growing rather than fading.

"Like that, did you?" He deserved some sort of medal for how thoroughly she seemed to have enjoyed his attention. There was no way she'd faked that.

"I never realized how talented you were." She smoothed her hands down his shoulders. "I have a whole new respect for your mouth." Her fingers found his, gently rubbing the length of them. "And your hands too."

"Your mouth was pretty damn spectacular if you ask me." He grinned happily, wishing he could revel in the praise, in the comfortable openness between them at that moment. But he couldn't. He was on a mission to prove himself to her and frankly, twice just wasn't enough, not after she'd gone without for years. He had more in him, he was sure of it.

He shifted his hips, settling his legs between hers, reminding her that while she'd gotten to enjoy her release twice, he was still waiting for his first. He paused, the unspoken question in his eyes.

She nodded, wiggling her hips and earning an uncontrollable groan from him in response.

As much as he wanted to let go and leave everything to chance, he knew with his five unplanned kids, that the odds weren't in his favor. He sure as hell wasn't shooting blanks. "Do you have a condom?" He didn't have one with him. He didn't even have any at home. He really hadn't been expecting that he might need one any time soon.

She shook her head and wrapped her legs around his, tucking her feet behind his knees. "I'm on the pill. It's ok."

He knew he was clean and he trusted her, but he somehow found it shocking that she wasn't going to insist. "You're sure?"

She shifted again, teasing his already over-stimulated dick with her center. Her voice revealed that she had no qualms with the situation at all as she nearly growled in response. "Hurry up or you forfeit being on top."

He wanted to be serious at that moment, when he slowly slid himself into her body for the first, and hopefully not the last, time, but he couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his mouth. Of course she was eager and demanding. He'd never pictured her as the demure type in bed, assault notwithstanding, and he was glad to see she was comfortable and secure enough with him to be herself. He welcomed the snarky remark as proof that this really was his partner, his Olivia, and not some docile, frightened woman trying to get over an obstacle in her life.

But then he realized the situation, thought about the fact that he was buried to the hilt inside of his partner's exquisitely tight, perfect body, that her back was arched and her head thrown back in bliss, that they were finally as close together as he suspected they'd always belonged. There was nothing funny anymore; there was only complete and utter sobriety as he looked down at her.

He braced his weight on his arms, curled his hands around her shoulders to keep her still, and then began to move. He started out restrained, long, steady, careful strokes, all the way out then all the way in. But he'd already waited fifteen years and he'd been so close with her mouth on him that his rhythm faltered quickly, his thrusts into her becoming short and rough and fast. With each one, her body moved, her shoulders slamming hard into his hands, the sounds coming from her throat twisting into almost inhuman growls. Her arms curled around his back, lifting her torso from the bed, holding onto him and digging her nails into his back as his lower body crashed into hers over and over.

He tried to support her, one hand against her back while he held them up with the other, but he couldn't. He was moving too fast, his body too desperate for release, their combined weight too much for him to hold with one off-balanced arm. Their top halves fell back onto the bed, both of them out of breath and fighting for control while he continued to pound into her.

He wasn't going to last long and though he wanted to be embarrassed, by that point, he frankly didn't care that much. He'd already gotten her off twice and, judging by her behavior, it wouldn't be long before he could make it three times. Still, he was afraid he'd let her down, that he'd come first, and so he reached between them, his hand finding its way to her core like it had been there a million times already, his fingers stroking her as his body claimed hers.

It was only a second before she was screaming again, his name torn from her lips as she arched and tightened, her nails slicing through his skin, the clench of her internal muscles so strong, they froze his motion. He let her ride it, watched as her eyes closed, felt her body shuddering beneath his, and only redoubled his own efforts when she was once again looking at him. It only took two more thrusts, what with the way her body was still rhythmically tightening around him and her sated eyes were staring up at him and her wet mouth was hanging open.

He was fairly certain he was dying then, the way his heart was pounding, the way his body was shaking, the way his muscles were failing, the way the ecstasy overtook him like it never had, the way her body seemed to milk gallons of fluid from his dick. There was nothing left of him. He'd given it all to her. His strength. His body. His love.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, more or less passed out on her, but he eventually regained feeling. The first thing he felt was her caress, her hands stroking his sides, his back, his face. Then he felt her breath, the heated rush brushing by his cheek. Then he heard her voice, the words drifting around in his brain for some time before they seeped into order.

"Are you ok?"

It took him another moment of hard contemplation before he could come up with an answer. No, he wasn't ok. Not if he would ever have to move. He wanted, needed, to stay there, on her, in her, until he died, which he still couldn't swear hadn't happened. Maybe that was why she was asking, because she suspected that he'd died from sheer desire or feeling too good or loving her too much.

But somehow he managed to turn his head, his lips finding her pulse in her neck and pressing against it. "Am I crushing you?" He knew he was twice her size, he knew his dead weight had to be uncomfortable, but still, he prayed that she wouldn't ask him to move.

Her gentle touches stopped, her arms wrapping around him tightly. "No, no, please don't move."

He wanted to look at her, wanted to reassure her with a glance while speaking required more energy than he had, but his head was too heavy to lift. With the last bit of strength he could muster, he rolled them onto their sides, keeping her cradled tightly against him, keeping them close enough that he was still inside her.

And then, luckily, gravity was on his side, his head flopping onto the pillow, allowing him to see her face.

She looked content. Tired, but content.

And happy. If he didn't know better, if he wasn't convinced nothing in the world could ever really make her happy, he'd swear she was happy.

He was tickled pink to think he had anything at all to do with making her happy.

Her lips curved slowly into a smile. "Hi."

"Hi." He didn't seem to have a choice as his mouth mirrored hers.

"That was nice." She paused, her eyes slowly drifting over his face. "Not nice. Great. It was great."

The situation, the context, the fact that they were snuggled together after having made love for the first time, it all made it impossible for him to read her. He was lying there with her, their faces a few inches apart, her eyes holding his. But he had no idea if she was being honest. He didn't know her like this. He didn't know how to interpret her words, if she was expecting him to get up, if she was uncomfortable and trying to make conversation to hide it. Perhaps she was lying, saying it was great when it hadn't been, and trying to protect his feelings after he'd tried to help her. His heart clenched, panic welling up at the familiar notion that he couldn't possibly be good enough for her. He hoped she didn't feel the way his body tensed, though it would be far too much to hope that she hadn't considering their position.

If she noticed, however, she gave no indication, her eyes moving down to his chest where her fingertips were tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "Thank you."

Ouch. Did she expect him to say "You're welcome" and forget it had ever happened? He held his breath, unsure how he would go about gathering up his dignity as he voiced the question that was suddenly weighing heavily on his mind. "Do you want me to leave?"

Her eyes were wide when they darted back to his. "No, I mean, unless," her chin trembled and she swallowed hard. "Do you want to leave? It's ok if you do." She forced an uncomfortable smile before she turned, rolling away from him and separating their bodies. Her body language told him in no uncertain terms that it was absolutely not ok for him to leave.

It was only then, when he saw the way she pulled the blanket up around her, that he realized she was taking it as an insult, that she thought he'd done what he'd agreed to, that he'd fucked her and didn't expect he'd have to snuggle too. There was only one way to correct her idea, so he slid over, pressing himself against her back, snaking his arm around her waist, pulling her as close as he could.

"No, I don't want to leave." He kissed her shoulder, then burying his face in her hair. "I never want to leave."

She moved her arm over his, tangling their fingers together and squeezing his hand while they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
